


Buckaroo Banzai and the Perfect Accord

by stew (julie)



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Modern Era, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22333309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Reno is tasked with ensuring that Rawhide meets Buckaroo at the Holland Township Municipal Office later that day… but even Rawhide doesn’t have a clue about why.
Relationships: Buckaroo Banzai/Rawhide
Kudos: 5





	Buckaroo Banzai and the Perfect Accord

**Author's Note:**

> I finished uploading all my old Banzai fic… and promptly started wondering what they’re all up to today! I tried to write the tale in Reno’s style, but that’s not as easy as it looks…

# Buckaroo Banzai and the Perfect Accord

♦

**18 October 2013**

“Reno, where’s Rawhide?” Buckaroo asked via my Go-Phone, without any preamble. 

“Working with the President this morning,” I reminded him. 

“Oh. Of course,” Buckaroo said in tones less urgent but still concerned. “It slipped my mind.”

“Happens to us all,” I said with wry reassurance. Buckaroo Banzai was a great man with a powerful mind and always would be – but he was 66 now (only a little younger than me), and there was no denying that occasionally a small detail would escape him, especially if something particularly urgent and unrelated was going on. “Something I can help you with, boss?” I asked him.

A quiet huff of laughter greeted this. “No, it has to be Rawhide. He’s coming back home this afternoon, is that right?”

“Far as I know, yes.”

“Can you make sure he gets back as soon as he can?” Buckaroo left a pause, as if uncertain about how much to explain. “Reno, I need him at the Municipal Office before five PM.”

“In Milford?” I said, fairly stupidly. My mind was scrambling to catch up with the logistics. The meeting with the President was due to finish by midday, but then it was a three-and-a-half or four hour drive back to our patch of New Jersey which was cutting it close even if – “D’you know if the First Lady is at the White House today?” I asked. “Chances are that she and the girls will shanghai Rawhide and feed him lunch.”

“I’ll call Michelle and head her off at the pass,” he said. “You organise a way to get Rawhide here sooner. We can’t risk traffic delays. Use the Blue Blaze Irregulars; someone will have a solution.”

“Uh, Buckaroo…” I had one more question, though I suspected I already knew the answer. “How urgent is this in terms of the journey’s carbon footprint…?”

A gusted breath blew sharp in my ear, before B. Banzai replied, “On a scale of one to ten, Reno – and this is _not_ I repeat _NOT_ for publication – the urgency is Fuck the Carbon Footprint.”

“Understood,” I responded, though actually I didn’t at all. “I’ll get onto it, boss. Over and Out.”

♦

I felt some responsibility for making sure this happened, so I took the Ford Focus Electric – being mindful in a choice that shouldn’t impact Buckaroo’s declared wishes – and I drove to the nearby airport where Rawhide was due to arrive. Within minutes of me dealing with the airport’s paperwork, BBI Scooter Lindley – a fine man of forty now – landed his helicopter. Rawhide shook Scooter’s hand and exchanged a few words of gratitude, before stepping out onto the tarmac. He was a tall man, so he was careful to crouch down and he carried his Stetson and his leather satchel in his hands for safekeeping while walking out from under the chopper’s whirring blades. Once Rawhide was clear, Scooter saluted us both in farewell and lifted off again. 

“What’s going on, Reno?” Rawhide asked me. I barely heard his words over the noise of the chopper, but the question was expected, so it was easy enough to read his lips.

“I don’t know,” I said with an exaggerated shrug as we walked towards the parking lot. Scooter’s chopper was already just a speck in the distant sky and couldn’t be heard now over the gentle breeze in the trees, so I said in normal tones, “It’s getting on for three PM; you’re here in plenty of time.”

“I just got a message to make sure I had ID on me – but seeing as I had to pass White House security this morning, I can’t think I’d need anything more.”

“Seems reasonable,” I agreed. We exchanged a glance and a shrug. There didn’t seem much point in speculating on Buckaroo’s mysterious plans, so instead I asked, “How did your work go with the President?”

“Good,” Rawhide replied with a satisfied gleam in his eye. “Really good.” Rawhide was a man of few words, so this could probably be translated as something along the lines of ‘utterly brilliant’. He added solemnly, “This is really gonna make a difference, Reno. Lives will be saved.”

By the time this tale is published, it will be no longer a secret, so I can confirm what some of you will already suspect: Rawhide has been President Obama’s right-hand man in developing the legislation that has become known as the Well Regulated Militia Bill, a bold attempt to define and implement the best balance between gun rights and gun control. I felt strongly that if Rawhide achieved nothing else in his life, this would secure his place in the ranks of the great men and women of the world, even if few acknowledged as much. 

“Proud of you,” I told him in rough honest tones. “We’re all so proud of you.”

He nodded his thanks, and then his gaze was snagged by the crowd gathered outside the Municipal Office. I was surprised enough to mutter “What the –” before returning my attention to the road, and turning in to find one of the few available spaces in the car park.

The Holland Township Municipal Office was located in a low, one-storey, brick building that was little larger than a generous house. It was usually so quiet that the only sign they were open for business was the few cars parked outside. 

Today, it seemed there was some kind of party or picnic happening on the MO’s front lawn. There was music playing from boom boxes, and a few people happily dancing, and others just as happily mingling and talking. There was a palpable air of excitement… and when it finally registered with me that there were a number of rainbows on display – on banners and clothes and flags – I started to grasp something of the truth.

Rawhide and I approached the crowd slowly, keeping a lookout for Buckaroo, not knowing whether he’d be inside the office or out… We both spied him at much the same time. He was dancing in the sunshine with a child in his arms, along with two women who seemed more rapt in each other than in him. I cast another look around, and realised there were quite a few gay and lesbian couples there as well as friends, family and allies, all happily celebrating together. 

Buckaroo was already grinning, but when he saw us, his grin grew impossibly brighter. “Rawhide! Reno! You made it!” he cried out. He pressed a kiss to the child’s head, and handed her back to her mothers, before dashing over to meet us. Rawhide was still looking confused, but he couldn’t suppress a smile and even a chuckle in response to Buckaroo’s exuberance.

“Did you hear what happened today?” Buckaroo asked, looking from me to Rawhide and back again – but mostly looking at Rawhide. 

The cowboy shook his head ‘no’, but I had a guess: “Governor Christie’s appeal is dead in the water, am I right?”

“Exactly right! The state Supreme Court refused to delay implementation any longer. A unanimous decision, as it should be.”

“Same-sex marriage is legal in New Jersey now,” I concluded, considering these two worthiest and most devoted of friends with a great swelling of benevolence.

Buckaroo was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet, he was so overflowing with joy. “These good people,” he continued, indicating the folks around us, “have been applying for marriage licences. They can marry in three days now, on the twenty-first.”

Rawhide was obviously delighted by the news and by Buckaroo’s happiness – but this most unassuming of men still didn’t seem to quite realise his own place in all this. He was a little surprised when Buckaroo – rarely physically demonstrative – stepped up close before him, and took both of Rawhide’s hands in both of his own. 

Buckaroo himself became a little more sober, a little more serious. “Well, my friend,” he began, “my dearest friend, my love.” With Rawhide’s hands to help balance him, the still-limber Buckaroo dropped to one knee in the grass and gazed up at the man who’d stood stalwart by his side through thick and thin for _decades_. “What d’you say? Make an honest man of me?”

Rawhide was smiling softly, just glowing with contentment. “You’re already an honest man, Buckaroo – but I’ll marry you, if that’s what you want.”

“More than anything.” Buckaroo still gazed up at him, a slight query in his eyes. “Is it what you want?”

“Hell, Buckaroo,” the cowboy rumbled, “I pledged myself to you, body, heart and soul, so long ago that I hardly remember a time before. Might as well make it legal, too!” After a moment, it seemed that Rawhide realised Buckaroo needed a slightly more sincere declaration despite the public nature of this scene. “Of course, Buckaroo,” Rawhide said quietly. “It would be the greatest honour of my life to marry you.”

“Then let’s go fill in some forms!” Buckaroo stood up again with a huge grin – and Rawhide rose to the occasion, whipping off his Stetson and going the full Clark Gable: he bent down to take Buckaroo into his arms, dip him, and kiss him passionately. The crowd around us – yours truly included – erupted into delighted cheers, which showed no signs of abating until at last Buckaroo and Rawhide had walked into the office hand-in-hand, and the doors swung shut behind them. 

♦

I introduced myself to those around me, and offered my hearty congratulations to all. It was a truly special day, with so much freely shared good-will. If ever I am in danger of becoming cynical, I shall remind myself of this day on which people spontaneously joined together in celebrating the inarguable fact that love is love.

Eventually Buckaroo and Rawhide emerged from the office brandishing their paperwork, and they made their way to me gradually, giving and receiving many hugs and handshakes as they went. 

Buckaroo was bright-eyed with emotion and humour. “He hadn’t guessed!” he exclaimed to me. “I thought I was being so obvious.”

Rawhide shrugged with a smile for his own obtuseness. “Thought it must be some kind of administration problem to do with the Institute. Didn’t realise it was an adventure.”

“The best adventure of all,” Buckaroo confirmed, pushing up to press another kiss to Rawhide’s mouth. Then he sobered a little as he resettled on his own two feet. “Rawhide, a lot of these people are getting married just as soon as they can – on Monday, once the 72 hours are up. Just in case any of The Powers That Be manage to throw a spanner in the works.”

“I’m guessing it’s not as if the Governor has had a change of heart,” I chipped in, “even if he’s admitted defeat.”

Buckaroo added, “I know we’re due a big ceremony with all the trimmings…”

“Not a worry, Buckaroo,” replied this modest man. “Let’s get it done, and then we can celebrate with our friends any time we want.” And the two of them hugged each other again, in perfect accord.

A quiet ceremony would suit Rawhide very well, of course, though I was just as sure that he’d agree to any kind of celebratory party that Buckaroo deemed appropriate. They had so very many friends and loved ones, after all – and they were celebrating not just their own partnership but the fact that the world had turned far enough on its axis to make it possible for all to acknowledge their relationship as what it had always been: a true marriage and meeting of minds.

“Let’s get home, Buckaroo,” Rawhide murmured, apparently already comfortable with having his arm tucked snugly around Buckaroo’s waist in public. He was 54 years old and quite obviously burgeoning into his prime. “Let’s share the good news.”

Buckaroo grinned at him, and then waved around at his new friends. “See you all here on Monday!”

The happy hoots and cheers, the songs and laughter must have reverberated right around the entire planet.

♦


End file.
